


Knowing You

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11721630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: ... Just another 'missing scene' from Rogue Nation.  (One-shot set between Morocco & London)





	Knowing You

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Will & self-beta'd.
> 
> ~ I've got to be honest here. Despite not having written anything for months now, I (hurrah!) somehow managed to write this today and, instead of ignoring it for months as I usually do, I'm just so damn... happy... at finally having written something that I'm positing it straight away. It may not be great, but... OMG, I've finally been able to write something!
> 
> ~ As always, thank you to everyone who has ever commented or given kudos as, seriously, it really does mean a lot to me.

===========  
Knowing You  
by TalithaX  
===========

 

Closing the door behind me, I walk across the small room and, as I place my bags on the table by the window, issue forth with the first bland and emotionless thought that pops into my head.

“You should be asleep.”

“And... you... should be in D.C.,” Ethan retorts in a tone that, while quiet and flat, indicates a degree of both annoyance and defensiveness that's at direct odds with the neutral expression on his tired face as he sits, calmly observing me, from his slumped shouldered position on the edge of the bed. Clad in what I can only assume was a once white, and is now a far more dirty grey looking, towel tied loosely around his hips and with all of today's bruises and abrasions on show, he looks as decrepit as he does exhausted and I have to throw all my willpower in to not grimacing – or rushing over and fussing – at the sight of him.

I shrug, more surprised at my... lack of surprise... at his opening gambit than I am bothered by it and, because this is clearly how it's going to be, don't even bother trying to head him off by bringing him up to speed on both everything I've done and managed to arrange since dropping him off to recuperate in the airport hotel. Sure, I could do my best to change the subject by telling him that both Luther and Benji are safely in the air and heading to London, or that our own direct flight leaves in five hours and that there's plenty of time to get in a good nap before hand. I could even show him the prosthetics and make-up I picked up to ensure we look like the photos on the passports that were in the old IMF cache just like he said they'd be. But...

I won't.

I'll fall into line and play along because, deep down, I was half expecting it.

“I had to come,” I reply matter of factly as, turning to face the table, I reach in to one of the bags and pull out a bottle of water.

“No. You didn't,” he replies in the same flat and dry tone. “You didn't have to...”

“I did,” I interrupt, keeping my back to Ethan as I take a long drink of water and mentally brace myself for what I've got a fairly good idea has to be coming. 

“No. You...”

“Hunley had called in the Special Activities Branch,” I state softly as, placing the bottle down on the table, I turn back around and – two being able to play the same game – fixing Ethan with a cool look. “Vienna having been the last straw, he was unleashing those trigger happy goons of the Special Activities Branch on you.”

His expression giving nothing away as to what he might think of this, or so I would assume anyway, unexpected snippet of information, Ethan shrugs. “Talk about overkill,” he mutters dismissively as he gingerly sits up – all the better to out-glare me with – a little straighter.

“Oh. You're right in one respect there,” I reply in a coldly factual voice of my own as, too tired and out of sorts to react any other way, I let Ethan's odd mood dictate the tone of what could even be called our long awaited reunion. “Kill. He was going to have you, oh, and Benji too, killed. So...” Pausing, I turn back around and begin searching through the bag with the clothes in it for something for Ethan to put on. “You see, what choice did I have? I had to reach out to Luther and, to do what we could to keep the pair of you safe, we had to come. We had no other choice. Oh... And... You're welcome, by the way.”

“What about your career?” Ethan queries bluntly as he goes above and beyond in his refusal to show either any sign of surprise or even interest in anything I've just told him. “You can't throw away your...”

And...

You know something? 

That's it. He's honed in on the right button to push, and he can damn well have it.

“What career?” I demand, cutting him off as I spin around and, still clutching the boxers and t-shirt I'd picked out in my hands, fold my arms across my chest. “This may come as something of a shock to you, Ethan, but if I'd wanted to work for the C.I.A. I would have been. Get that? If... If I'd wanted to work for those fuckers I would have been there already. As, however, I hadn't wanted, and, hey, now know for a fact I... don't... want to work for them, I ask you again... What fucking career?”

My piece, okay, with perhaps a little more emotion than I'd been wanting to display, said, I throw the pieces of clothing at Ethan and, just for good measure, glare at him.

Just...

Damn him. I know what he's doing, and a part of me can even understand it, but does it absolutely positively have to be now? I'm stressed, hardly coping with the knowledge that his heart stopped beating earlier in the day, and can think of approximately one hundred and one ways our all too brief time alone together could be better spent.

But...

Whatever.

I get it.

And, both again and in the name of complete honesty, I'd even go so far as to admit to having been expecting it.

Sighing, Ethan stands up and, as a flash of pain crosses his face that very nearly makes me feel guilty for not just having handed them to him, bends down to pick his clothes up from the floor. “This isn't your fight, Will,” he comments, pulling the t-shirt on over his head before sinking back down on to the edge of the bed with another, far more heartfelt this time, sigh.

“And what? It's yours?” I retort, once again folding my arms across my chest as, refusing to show any sign of weakness here, I watch impassively as Ethan, both slowly and with obvious effort, rids himself of his towel and pulls on his boxers. “You know, I'm getting the impression that spending all this time on your own has turned you into a self-absorbed asshole,” I continue, my resolve nearly faltering as, the simple act of pulling on two pieces of clothing having clearly taken it out of him, Ethan breathes deeply through his mouth for a couple of seconds. “Your fight, huh? Your Syndicate. Your mess. Your own personal obsession with no room for anyone else. I'm sorry, Ethan... Actually. No. I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry for anything and I call bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit!” 

“Will, I...” His expression subtly changing from blank and unreadable to, albeit mild, concern tinged surprise, Ethan frowns and gives every impression of – proving there's a first time for everything – not knowing what to say.

“Don't... Will... me!” Breathing deeply myself, I mentally wave goodbye to the stoic routine I've been trying so hard to maintain and, call it reverting to form if you like, allow myself to free fall into the far more familiar depths of emotion. This... I don't care if it's only been a couple of minutes and I'm caving in far too early, this has gone on for long enough. Just because I know what Ethan's trying to do doesn't mean I have to wear it and, regardless of which way things go now, I just need to know what his final move is going to be.

Dig his heels in and, because once his mind is fully made up he never gives in, grind me down?

Prove that I don't really know him as well as I think I do by convincing me that it... really is over?

Wave the white flag of defeat and make everything as right as they're currently capable of being?

I...

I just need to know.

Pulling the chair out from under the table, I turn it around and, as my heart begins to beat a dull tattoo in my chest, take a seat on it. “I'm outside of my comfort zone, Ethan,” I state, keeping my gaze locked on his, “and, although I've tried to take you on at the game you're playing, I'm struggling to keep it together. Because I thought it was the right... no... the only thing to do in order to protect those I care about, I've gone rogue from the C.I.A. and, who knows, could even end up being charged with treason. Now, before you get all defensive and try to point out the obvious, this is a mere statement of fact, not a complaint. No one held a gun to my head and I have no regrets, but... The fact still remains that, not only did I once again jump, but this time I did it without any form of safety net and, fine, it worries me. Not the state of my career, or what might become of me, but what's coming. The fight, the one you're deluded enough to call your own, is heading towards us like a freight train and somehow we've got to get through it. Together. We've got to get through it together and that, Ethan, is something you've got to make your peace with. Whether you like it or not, you're not on your own anymore and you've got to get your head around the fact that you've now got a team with you, that... I'm... with you.”

“Will...” My name falling out of Ethan's lips like an unspoken plea to just let things be, he drops his gaze and shakes his head. “You... You shouldn't be here,” he whispers, perhaps more to himself than to me.

“Maybe I shouldn't,” I reply, leaning forward and trying unsuccessfully to get Ethan to look back at me, “but here I am. With you. I'm here with you, where I want to be, and... and I know what you're trying to do.”

“I'm not trying to do anything,” Ethan mutters with a small shrug as he steadfastly refuses to look at me. “Everything I've said or asked has been with your best interests at heart and...”

“Uh! That's just it,” I interrupt. “With what... you... think are my best interests at heart. You think I'd be better off as far away from you as I could possibly get and what you're trying, without coming out and saying it, mind you, to do is get this through to me and... and I'm not having it! I get it, but I'm not having a bar of it!”

“That... That's not what I'm doing at all,” Ethan protests with no real conviction whatsoever. “I just think...”

“Again, I get it, I really do,” I murmur, talking over the top of him, “and you know something? I even appreciate it. The thing is though, I'm big enough to look after myself. I can make my own, be they right or wrong, decisions, and I can fight my own battles. I can even hold my own against stubborn, pig headed men who want to push me away because they've got it in their fool head that I'm better off without them.”

“But...” Sighing, Ethan lifts his head at long last and gives me a raw, beseeching look. “You are... You are better off without me and...”

“Fine.” Feeling as though I have one last card to play before this deteriorates into an all out, take no prisoners argument, I get up and, walking over to the bed, kneel before Ethan. “If you don't want me, if... you've spent the last six months realising that I'm not what you want and our relationship is over, then... Then you've got to come out and say it directly to my face. I don't want to hear your reasons for pushing me away, I just want you to do it. I want you to say it's over because you no longer have any feelings for me, not because you think you're protecting me.” Pausing as my breath catches in my throat, I look up at Ethan and smile grimly. “Say it. Say it to my face that you don't want me and I'll accept it. I'll remain as part of the team to help finish what you stated against The Syndicate and then... uh... then you won't ever have to see me again. Just... Say it...”

“I...” Closing his eyes, Ethan tilts his head back and clenches the fingers of both hands around the duvet cover. “Damn it, Will... The last thing I've ever wanted to do is hurt you. I...”

“Then... Say it. Stop this reverse psychology attempt at pushing me away and say it. Say you don't want me.”

“I...” As a strange sound, something like a cross between a groan and a whimper, comes out of Ethan, his eyes fly open and he looks down at me with an expression of anguish on his face. “I can't say it,” he whispers. “I can believe you're better off without me, and I can try to make you come to this conclusion yourself, but I can't say it. Will... You... When I first saw you today I felt sure that I had to be dreaming, that... that there was no way you could really be there...”

“I'm here, Ethan,” I reply as, feeling as though an oppressive weight has been lifted from my shoulders, a genuinely happy smile stretches across my lips. “I'm here, and I'm not, contrary to your best attempts to convince me otherwise, going anywhere.” Standing up, I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on Ethan's forehead before taking a seat on the mattress next to him and placing my arm gently around his shoulders. “You're just lucky I know you as well as I do,” I mock chide, my smile broadening as he places his hand on my thigh and leans instinctively against me. “I mean, a lesser man may have taken your... disinterest... at face value and just left you to it.”

“Lucky?” Yawning, Ethan, who I think it's pretty safe to say has well and truly given up at this point, rests his head on my chest and rubs his palm against the denim of my jeans. “Lucky doesn't even begin to cover it...”

“Anyone ever tell you that you say the nicest things?” Tightening my arm around his shoulders, I kiss the top of his head and, because it's been both so long coming and hard fought for, bask in the comforting simplicity of the moment. The six plus months apart, Hunley's relentless, niggling – not to mention nagging – presence over my life, all the loneliness, depression, frustration and worry – it's all history now and no longer matters. Even Ethan's attempt at, and I honestly believe that's all it ever was; his way of believing he was protecting me, freeing me is in the past and we just have the future and whatever it may bring with it to look forward to.

A future that I've just got to say is already looking a hell of a lot better than it did when I woke up this morning.

“It's an art form, what more can I say,” Ethan murmurs with a welcome – and very much missed – hint of facetiousness as he stifles another yawn. “Uh... Sorry. As I appear to be falling asleep, and, well, ignoring the fact I should have asked this earlier, what time is our flight out of here?”

“If that's your way of asking whether we have time for a nap,” I reply, lifting my hand away from Ethan's shoulder and craning my neck in order to read the time on my watch, “the answer, thankfully, is yes. Even with allowing ninety minutes for, you know, putting our new faces on and getting across to the airport, you'll be pleased to know that we can still fit in a good three hours of shut-eye.”

“Pleased doesn't even come close to covering it,” Ethan responds, giving my knee a quick squeeze as, with a reluctant look, he slowly shifts away from under my arm and stands up. “I have no idea why, but there's something about near death experiences and coming off a motorbike at high speed that really takes it out of a man.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Not wanting to make an issue of, let alone even think about, everything Ethan's been through today, I control myself from slipping effortlessly into 'lecture mode' about needing to be more careful and, leaning forward, simply begin to unlace my shoes.

“What? No lecture?” he queries, feigning an innocent expression as I jerk my head up to shoot him a warning look. “You're slipping. Don't tell me the CIA has made you soft?”

“What the CIA has made me is one tiny step off permanently pissed off, or... perhaps that should be borderline postal,” I mutter, kicking my shoes away before pulling off my socks and standing up. “As for the lecture you're so sorely in need of? A) you're too tired and would probably just doze off on me anyway, and B) I'm not entirely sure I'd know when to stop, so...”

“Another time, then?”

“Mmm... I'll give you a rain-check.”

“If it helps any, Benji delivered a pretty good one in Vienna.”

“What? A lecture on needing to pull your head out of your ass?”

“Something like that, yes.” Smiling, Ethan sits down on the edge of the bed near the pillows and watches me as I take off my jacket and throw it on to the floor. “It made me think of you, actually.”

“As in... I've been teaching Benji on ways to keep you in line?” I reply with a smirk as I unbuckle my belt and, all the time knowing that Ethan's watching me intently, step out of my jeans. “If so, I'll take it as a compliment on my... Ethan-wrangling skills.”

“Something like that,” he repeats, making no attempt to stifle another yawn as he swings his legs up on to the bed and pats the empty side of the mattress next to him. “You know... This isn't exactly how I imagined our first time back in bed together would go...” 

“Having a smart ass conversation about lectures and Benji?” I offer just that little bit breathlessly as the truth behind his words hone in on their target and, with piercing accuracy, hit home. “I...”

“You know what I mean,” Ethan murmurs, once again patting the mattress as, clad only in briefs and a t-shirt, I make my way over to the bed. “Will...”

Nodding, I lie down on the bed and, as I don't want to do anything to inadvertently aggravate any of his injuries, let Ethan settle himself warmly against me. “You... You've thought about it too...”

“Constantly.” Sliding his hand under my t-shirt and resting it on the bare skin of my chest, Ethan closes his eyes and sighs with obvious contentment. “But, I... I'll take this, too.”

“Just think of it as... a promise of things to come,” I whisper, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now... Shhh... Go to sleep. If we've got enough time when we wake up I may even give you a taster...”

“I'll make enough time,” Ethan declares somewhat adamantly for a man already so close to sleep. “Just... Will...”

“Shhh... The quicker you go to sleep the...”

“No... Not that. Just... Thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me for anything. Like I said earlier, I had to...”

“Not just that, for... I want to thank you for knowing me well enough to stand your ground and for not giving up on me. It... You. You mean everything to me...”

“And...” Placing my hand, even though they're seperated by the thin cotton of my t-shirt, over Ethan's, I smile to myself as my eyes slip shut and, without even having to think about it, murmur, “You just happen to mean everything to me too...”

~ end ~


End file.
